Tales of KOTOR: The Lost Souls
by Dante-Raven
Summary: Part of the botched Holidayoramarama challenge: BaoDur finds himself searching for a purpose, after learning of his abilties and he desperately awaits a longing confession...


Star Wars

Tales of the Knights of the Old Republic

The Lost Souls

**A/N: For Trillian4210, part of the Holiday-o-rama-rama challenge, a Bao-Dur Romance fluff without Visas present. Happy Holidays and sorry for its very late arrival. It's not exactly "romance" per se, but it was also my first real chance to write something about Bao-Dur. Hope you enjoy.**

In the cold vacuum of space, she soared like an angel, moving through the blue swirls that seemed to revere the worn, brown and beige freighter. She had seen her fair share of fights, murders and narrowly escaped death more times than she had exchanged owners.

For all that could be said of the _Ebon Hawk_, however, it was that she would continue her journey, long after her owners' found peace floating in the middle of the black morass. Within her bowels, she hummed silently, dark as night, save for a few lights that seemed barely able to keep up their own strength.

In the garage lay a swoop bike and the work bench several meters away from it. Standing in the middle of the gap, a worn, tired figure rose, wiping away the dirt and grime that had festered from the endless hours he had spent improving and rebuilding several portions of the ship.

His mechanic overalls had long since been covered in oil and dust, though he paid it no mind. It had appeared like that since the first day he had returned to the service of his revered General, known to the rest of the Galaxy as the Jedi Exile. For all that could be said about her, Bao-Dur cared only for the fact that she was a strong leader—one whom he knew he'd forever be bound to.

Viola Sawes, the Jedi Exile, had seen the same level of brutality he had seen on the battlefield, and for all of the horrors that had ensued and continued even now on their farfetched quest, she still carried on as if the burden were hers alone.

The soot-covered technician wiped away the grime on his forehead with his arm, pausing only for a moment as he regarded his latest creation. Around him the ship continued to churn out its heavy groan, but that was only background noise to him, hardly noticeable at all. He took a few steps, and he was greeted with the comforting whirring of a small sphere that sputtered a few nonsensical beeps, which he was privy to understanding.

"You're right," he admitted with a weary smile. "I should turn in for the night—we'll be reaching Korriban soon and the General might need our skills." He picked up a water bottle that stood on a bench and he sucked in precious mouthfuls, gulping loudly and without a single care. That wasn't to say the Iridonian-Zabrak strutted around the ship carelessly—it was quite the opposite.

Like the armour-clad Mandalorian that slept a few feet away from him, Bao-Dur was someone who appreciated a rigid set of guidelines, with which to guide his life. It seemed somehow strange to him at that point when he thought of his revered General.

For all that could be said of Viola, she was certainly someone who reveled on unpredictability. Unpredictability, in turn, seemed to follow the good General wherever she went. It was definitely how she had fallen back to his good graces, though that thought didn't sit too well in the pit of his stomach.

He casually placed the bottle on his workbench and walked through the dim, round corridor towards one of the man dorms. Bao-Dur had found his mind focused on a number of things lately, mainly about a recent revelation pertaining to his unique abilities. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying desperately not to think of what had happened in that moment, but it was no use.

Viola had spoken to him of a gift that she had once possessed and that now manifested in him. For all of his dreams, Bao-Dur's growing sensitivity to the Force was certainly something he considered a nightmare. He could never find himself attracted to the Force the way he had once been.

The Force was both a wonderful and terrible thing, matched only by the grace and wrath of those who were once Jedi.

He lay down on his cot, ignoring the splotched stains of grease on his clothes that would stain the snow white sheets and once more, he closed his eyes.

It wasn't the strangely comforting darkness that greeted him, nor the exhaustion that finally overcame his aching body, but it was the rustle deep within the back of his mind that greeted him.

Behind his eyes, he watched the vicious battles of Dxun, watching as his vaunted General sent thousands to their deaths.

He watched the many battles of Taris, where the Republic fleet had just managed to beat back the onslaught of the Mandalorians time and again.

The final battle of Althir had convinced him of the right they were doing—of the justice that could only be committed by sacrificing the needs of the few for the greater good. He watched from Viola's command ship as Revan's forces obliterated the cities that held countless innocents, hoping for one weak, tired moment that they had managed to use the Jedi's compassion against them.

The Mandalorians never saw what hit them—the monsters had become nothing more than the cat-like nexu that had bitten off more than it could chew, and in turn, the once compassionate Jedi had become a cold, vicious acklay continuing its relentless pursuit of its prey.

And finally, after they had crushed the might of the Mandalorian war machine, ensuring much of the Galaxy would remain protected, they moved for Malachor V. The one planet filled with nightmares for many more years to come.

Bao-Dur could never speak of it—he knew he spent the last years of his life making amends for the things he had done, though the grim truth of it all was that he could never pay penance for the things he had committed.

Viola's burden was far worse—being stripped of the Force, becoming nothing more that a wound made manifest from a dying planet that thousands of other Jedi reveled in. She had been the only one to turn back and it cost her status of Jedi, a leader and many, many more things.

He opened his eyes and glanced back at the door, spotting a wistful dark figure standing by it. He knew that though the light from outside couldn't reveal if she was wearing clothing, she had indeed been wearing it.

"Credit for your thoughts?" She asked him.

He knew she didn't come to chat—she'd come to confess.

He looked at her and didn't say a word for a long moment, studying her figure, her words and the past history they had far beyond the one that had presented itself. He finally sat up and then rose, standing to attention. "As you wish, General," he replied. Old habits die hard.

She took a step and he spotted the faint glimmer of a worn lightsaber hilt on her hips, and were he anyone else—say a certain scoundrel who piloted their freighter—he'd have found the thought of her hips enticing.

At this moment, Bao-Dur found her eyes far more warming than the promise of a body. It wasn't what he needed—they had shared a great many things, and had taken what they needed, never to speak about it. It seemed like a quiet understanding between the both of them—and yet here he was, studying her green eyes, lost in their vast depths. He knew today would be the day; it had to be.

She bit her lower lips and removed her lightsaber, casting it on the ground with much of his gear. "You know why I've come," she stated flatly, embracing his body and running her hands across his strong jaw and wide chest.

Perhaps he might have been mistaken in thinking she'd come here to confess, and so he let slip a weak sigh, relegating himself to another night, another body.

He let her have him, and he lost himself in his thoughts, wondering whether or not the next night would be the same thing or if she'd finally confess the deep connection they had. Sometimes, he'd even wonder if it was his own imagination.

He knew her at every level; from the noble and charismatic leader who inspired her soldiers to continue their push against the Mandalorians to the very woman in front of him, revealing her naked body—her vulnerable sense of self—and merging with his equally vulnerable self.

He let her wrap her legs around his waist and he fell through the motions, carried away with that promising thought of the day she'd tell him that she loved him—that his destiny was beside hers and that she'd train him in the ways of the Force.

He saw all of this, lost in the thought of her eyes, that when he came to, his arms were wrapped around her, their bodies filled with glistening sweat and breathing so heavily he thought he might finally cry in relief.

As it was, however, he watched her sigh in relief, planting soft, moist kisses along his worn and sweat soaked body. Before he'd even make sense of what had happened, they were lying in his cot, under the sheets, and he looked at her inviting green eyes, almost as if she were a voracious creature that needed something equally great to satiate her hunger.

And once more, Bao-Dur found himself lost within those eyes, gazing at both the prospect of his abilities and their future together. She muttered something and he allowed a soft smile, not quite listening to her and letting his eyes roam over her body, seeking more than just the comfort of another body in bed.

Bao-Dur found himself longing for more—for someone and something that could give him a purpose. His life was nothing but a boat sailing aimlessly within a sea of choices and it was only until he happened upon the arrival of his General that he found a wisp of purpose.

He glanced back at her gentle face and found her fast asleep, and knew that once more, in the space of a week, the confession of his growing abilities had passed him by.

There would always be tomorrow, and as always, Bao-Dur would remain stoic.


End file.
